The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love (13 page)

“I didn’t know you liked football.”

Hannah twisted on the bleacher to find Camille St. Clair sliding into place next to her. She was too surprised to respond for a moment. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she felt that familiar sense of shame wash over her.

“I don’t really.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Well, that would explain why you’re here.” Camille’s gaze went to the sidelines. “Who is he?”

“Who is who?” Hannah snapped, but the flame in her cheeks didn’t subside. How did Camille know?

“Most girls only attend football games to watch the boys,” Camille said with a conspiratorial smile. “If not the ones on the field, then the ones in the stands. Which are you? Field or stands?”

Hannah thought about denying it, but what other reason could she invent to explain her presence at the game?

“Field,” she said miserably, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in her hands. “Because I’m a complete idiot.”

Camille laughed. “No, honey, you’re not an idiot. Just a girl.”

At that moment, a roar went up from the crowd. Hannah jumped to her feet to see what was happening, as did Camille. All she could see was a Sweetgum player streaking up the field, everyone else in pursuit.

“What’s happening?” she asked Camille.

“Quarterback draw. Dante’s been setting them up for it for the last two series.”

“Huh?” Camille might as well have been speaking Latin for all Hannah understood.

“It was the new quarterback,” Camille said. “He just scored a touchdown.”

Hannah’s flush of shame was replaced by one of pride and pleasure. “Really?”

Camille shot her a look out of the corner of the eye. “Oh no, Hannah. Not the quarterback.”

Hannah’s silence betrayed her. Camille reached over and put an arm around her, squeezed her shoulders.

“You have my sympathy. Quarterbacks are the worst. After fullbacks, of course.” She smiled in a way that Hannah didn’t understand, but she thought it had something to do with what Mrs. Budge was always calling irony.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Hannah said in a low voice. Despite the wild cheering around them, Camille nodded to show she’d heard.

“It’ll be our secret.”

Camille smiled funny when she said it, which made Hannah wonder. She followed Camille’s gaze to the field, to the sight of Coach Brown stalking the sidelines, yelling at one of the players. And then Hannah cast a sidelong look at Camille and realized why she understood Hannah’s predicament so well.

After the game, Hannah loitered outside the entrance to the locker room, trying not to make eye contact with any of the cheerleaders or pompom girls waiting on their dates. Camille’s warning kept replaying in her mind, and she could feel the other girls’ gazes from time to time—some curious, some disdainful.

Finally, Josh emerged along with the other players. His wet hair clung to his head in tight, dark curls. When they were kids, he’d had a buzz cut, soft and bristly at the same time. He used to let her rub the top of his head for luck. That memory sent a strange sensation through her midsection. Or maybe it was the thought of touching Josh now, feeling those curls beneath her fingers, that made her feel like she’d just gotten off the Tilt-A-Whirl.

“Hey.” He walked up to her as if she didn’t embarrass him at all. Other kids called invitations to join them at a party in somebody’s cow pasture or at their parents’ lake house, but he just smiled and waved. “Maybe next time.” He turned back to Hannah. “You ready?”

She heard a few of the cheerleaders making comments, grumbling about Josh’s defection, but he seemed oblivious. “Sure,” she answered.

“You hungry yet?” He slung his sports bag over his shoulder. “We could stop at the Dairy Dip and get a burger. You still like Coke floats?”

She shrugged, suddenly shy. “I guess.”

When had she ever been so aware of a boy walking next to her? And when had he gotten so tall? She practically had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. Probably came in handy for seeing over all those players on the field.

“Good game, by the way,” she said, even though she barely knew the difference between a first down and a touchdown. The team had won, and everyone seemed happy.

He shook his head. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t lose my starting spot. Don’t know what was wrong with me tonight. I couldn’t throw it in the ocean.” She could feel him looking at her.

“What?” she said, suddenly afraid. Maybe she should have taken Camille’s warning more to heart.

Josh stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Cars whipped by on the street, kids honking and yelling in celebration of the victory. “I think
you
were what was wrong with me tonight.”

Her breath froze in her chest. The dim glow of the streetlight lit the firm angle of his jaw. “What did I do?” She hated the breathless sound of her voice.

He laughed. “You showed up.”

“Josh—”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Even if I messed you up?” She couldn’t resist saying it.

He shrugged the sports bag off his shoulder and let it fall to the ground. “I should have been expecting it.”

“Expecting what?”

“You always mess me up.”

“Josh, what are you talking about?” He moved closer, and she could hear a strange buzzing in her ears.

“This.”

And then right there on the sidewalk, with cars driving by and in full view of everyone in Sweetgum, he kissed her.

And Hannah Simmons, for the first time in her life, decided to believe that dreams really might come true after all.

Later that evening, inside Tallulah’s Café, Camille stood at the hostess stand and surveyed the crowd of people. She tried to look nonchalant, but every nerve stood on end with heightened awareness. The high school kids were no doubt crowded into the Dairy Dip, but all the adults in town were here at the café—parents, teachers, old coots who themselves had once battled for glory on the gridiron. More than a few heads turned to look at her standing there by the entrance.

“Evening, Camille.” Tallulah appeared beside her. Her bright blue eyes contrasted with the deep wrinkles in her tan face. No one knew the older woman’s age with any certainty, but she had to be more than seventy, given how long the café had been in operation.

“How are you, Tallulah?”

“Fine as frog’s hair.” She picked up a menu. “Is it just you?”

“Actually, I’m meeting someone.”

Camille had to give the older woman credit for showing no surprise. “Two then.” Tallulah grabbed another menu. “Table or booth?”

Camille hesitated. A table meant their conversation would be overheard by half of the restaurant, but a booth would look like she and Dante were on a date.

“Booth please,” she finally said, deciding that as long as she knew it was just a meal shared by two old friends, that was all that mattered.

“This way.” Tallulah motioned for Camille to follow her. “I’ll put you back here in the corner.”

Before Camille could request a less secluded spot, Tallulah headed off and Camille had no choice but to follow. She was just slipping into the vinyl seat when she heard a commotion at the doorway. She looked up to see Dante coming into the café. As if on cue, everyone broke into applause.

“Way to go, coach,” a man called from the other side of the room.

“On to state!” another one hollered.

Dante smiled and nodded, raised a hand in acknowledgment. “Thank you, folks. But we’ve still got a long way to go. Just keep cheering for us.”

He looked around then, searching for her. Camille lifted her hand—not high in the air, just enough for him to see her. His smiled grew wider, and he headed toward her, stopping here and
there to accept more congratulations along the way. When he finally made it to the booth, to her surprise he slid in next to her rather than taking the seat opposite.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said, settling in, his shoulder rubbing against hers.

She was already scrunched over as far as she could go, so she couldn’t avoid the contact. The sensation, though, wasn’t unpleasant. Oh, who was she kidding? It was all she could do not to lean her head over and rest it on his shoulder.

“No problem. I’ve only been here a couple minutes. Merry wanted to drop her daughter off at a party before she brought me.”

He picked up one of the menus Tallulah had left behind and flipped it open. “So you haven’t ordered yet?”

“No.” She grabbed the other menu and did the same. At least it gave her something to do until the waitress came to take their order.

“I could eat everything on here,” he said with his usual good humor.

“I’m sure Tallulah would be glad to let you.”

“I’m always too nervous to eat before a game.”

“Still? I would think that wouldn’t be so bad now that you’re a coach and not a player.”

“Yeah, you’d think so, but it’s worse.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.” She hadn’t thought about the pressure he would be under. She’d been too busy worrying about the stress his presence placed on her.

He shrugged. “Goes with the job.”

“I’m surprised you came back.”

He set the menu down and turned to look at her. “Why does that surprise you?”

“Because you could go anywhere, do anything. Be anything.” She tried not to let her envy show.

He shrugged. “I don’t think the rest of the world shares your opinion.”

“You were a college football star and played in the NFL. I would’ve thought the offers came pouring in.”

He shook his head. “Washed-up pro football players are a dime a dozen, Camille.”

“But coaching opportunities—”

“Aren’t as plentiful for men of color,” he said in a dry tone. “Even with a college degree. There’s a lot of competition, and I’m young. I was lucky to get this job. I know guys I used to play with who are driving cabs and tending bar.”

“I wondered why you were available after the start of the season.”

“Coach Stults called me when he decided to retire. I’d given up on finding a coaching job this year.”

Camille sipped the ice water the waitress had brought, unsure what to say. Here she’d been assuming that he had just kept right on living a charmed life, even after his injury. Surely he’d made enough as a pro player that he didn’t need to worry about money. At least not for a while.

“You did a great job tonight,” she said. “Coach Stults made a good decision asking you to take over.”

He didn’t smile, but she could see from the light in his eyes how much her compliment pleased him. “I have to do a better job of getting them ready next week. My quarterback was so distracted tonight, I thought he might start running for the wrong end zone.”

Camille smiled. “I think what was bothering him might have been sitting in the stands.”

“Or cheering on the sideline?” He winked at her. “I remember how distracted I used to get. Guess I’ll have to cut him some slack.”

Camille blushed and then was glad she’d taken a booth in the back where the lighting was a bit dimmer. “Do you know who the distraction girl is?” Hannah might have a crush on the quarterback, but Camille wondered whether the star athlete returned her feelings.

Dante laughed. “I hope it’s the one I saw him kissing on the sidewalk on my way over here.”